Page 81
Story: Duke of Gluttony
“When it comes to protecting my family, I find I’m rather less principled than I once imagined.” She stepped closer witha shrug. “If your contacts must be creative, I’d consider that justice, not subterfuge.”
Wonder softened the harsh lines around his eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Seems my compass has found a new north.”
“You didn’t start this war,” she said, resting a hand on his arm. “But I won’t fault you for fighting it with every weapon at your disposal.”
His hand covered hers, warm and solid and real. The rigid set of his shoulders eased by degrees. “I didn’t burn down his warehouse, Abigail.”
“I believe you.” The doubt that had clawed at her chest since James had handed her the paper dissolved. “I shouldn’t have questioned?—”
“You had reason to wonder.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her wrist, the touch sending warmth spiraling up her arm. “I’ve not always been transparent with you.”
The grandfather clock chimed eight, its bronze voice echoing through the morning quiet.
“The girls will be up soon,” she murmured, though her feet seemed rooted to the carpet.
Graham nodded, but neither moved. The space between them hummed with the memory of last night’s kiss and this new understanding that had just passed between them—the acknowledgment that they would both cross lines they’d never imagined crossing, for love, for family, for each other.
“You know,” Abigail said, the thought crystallizing as she spoke, “I wouldn’t put it past Hollan to have orchestrated the fire himself.”
Graham went perfectly still. “What?”
“It’s remarkably convenient timing, isn’t it? A sympathetic tragedy to make him appear the victim rather than the aggressor, just before our court appearance.”
Graham stared at her for a moment. Then he threw back his head and laughed—a sound of pure, delighted disbelief.
“You,” he said, stepping closer, his hands framing her face with reverent care, “are brilliant.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m merely observing?—”
His mouth claimed hers, cutting off her protests. This wasn’t the tentative exploration of last night, but something more urgent, more purposeful. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her until her toes barely brushed the carpet. She clutched at his shoulders, anchoring herself in the storm of sensation.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes blazed with focused energy that transformed his exhausted features with predatory sharpness. “You may have just handed me the key to our victory.”
“I merely suggested?—”
“You saw what I couldn’t.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, gentle now. “I’ll be back by supper. We’ll rest easy tonight, I promise you. Nothing is going to harm this family.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the study with the lingering taste of his kiss on her skin and her body humming with heat.
To busy herself, she moved to his desk and gathered the scattered papers into neat stacks. His certainty had been infectious, but experience whispered warnings in her ear—victory was rarely so simply achieved. Still, the fierce determination in his eyes had kindled something in her chest, a flame that refused to be extinguished.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Your Grace?” Ms. Norwood stood in the doorway, already dressed for the day in her sensible gray gown. “The girls are asking for you. Mary Ann is most concerned about her hair ribbons for today’s outing.”
Abigail smoothed her nightdress, acutely aware of how she must look—hair tumbled, lips still tender from Graham’s kiss, eyes bright with secrets. “I’ll be right there.”
Ms. Norwood’s gaze flicked to the empty desk, then to the faint smile still playing about Abigail’s lips. “I trust His Grace is well this morning? James mentioned he had an eventful night.”
“He’s quite well. Just stepped out on an urgent errand.” Abigail closed an open ledger and stacked it neatly with the others. “He seemed rather excited about it, actually.”
“Ah.” The governess’s mouth quirked with knowing amusement. “I’ve observed that dukes, as a species, are prone to peculiar bouts of inspiration at the most inconvenient hours. My previous employer, the Duke of Wemberly, once ordered the entire east lawn dug up at midnight because he was convinced Roman artifacts lay beneath it.”
“Did they?”
“Nothing but worms and one very disgruntled badger.” Ms. Norwood’s eyes twinkled. “The duchess was not amused.”
Laughter bubbled up from some deep place in Abigail’s chest, washing away the last traces of morning tension. “Well, I doubt His Grace’s quest will involve digging up the garden, at least.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81 (Reading here)
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114